seen

Seen.

I can’t seem to get away from that word lately.

One of our speakers at MOPS talked about healthy relationships as places we can feel “seen, soothed, and safe.” On a podcast I just listened to, the guest said something like, “The one thing people are more attached to than their deeply-held beliefs is their need to be seen.” And the underlying theme of a book I read recently—On Purpose by Julie Zine Coleman—seems to center around the devastating lack of seen-ness that women in the modern American church experience, due to the questionable ways we have traditionally interpreted the Bible’s controversial passages about women.

As this word has pestered me until I can no longer ignore it, I’ve grown increasingly uncomfortable with two facts:

1. I need to be (and feel) seen—just like every human being who has ever lived. As much as I’d like to think myself superior, or immune, to this innate human need, I am not.

2. I cannot let the need to be and feel seen hold power over me.

If you were raised in evangelical Christianity, as I was—and especially if you are female—you probably know why the need to feel seen makes me feel so uncomfortable: it’s the exact opposite of how I learned to exist in the world. I always thought that the best and most Christian thing I could be was invisible.

After all, what were the “good” women in church always doing? The invisible tasks, like staffing the nursery, teaching children’s church, counting the offering behind a closed office door, or washing dishes in the kitchen while everyone else socialized over the potluck. And which girls were subject to adult disapproval, subtle or otherwise? The ones they thought to be dressing or behaving “for attention.”

But the quest to become invisible in order to feel like a good person is, I think, actually a backward quest to feel seen. That innate need to be known, understood, and cared for can’t be ignored into nonexistence. The longer we ignore it, the more insatiable it becomes, and the more power it gains over us.

For example: If the people that matter to me are only comfortable when I’m small, quiet, and doing the work of a martyr in the background, I’ll do my best to stay that way—because I need to feel seen and accepted by them. Stepping out of that role might catch their attention in the short term, but it could also alienate them in the long term, which would be an earthquake to my sense of self. So in service of being seen, I remain invisible.

But what happens when, in service of remaining invisible, I refuse to become who God has called me to be?

I’m going to make a statement that would lose some Christian authors, speakers, and influencers a lot of money and attention if it were accepted by the church: I don’t think a sinful desire for attention and power is a major stumbling block for Christian women. I think it’s the opposite—the need to be accepted by the group, the need to not be treated like a pariah for having a voice, is what stands in the way of many women walking in obedience to the Lord. At least, it’s what often stands in my way.

The need to be seen for who we are is real and legitimate, and with it comes the terrible vulnerability of being found lacking. I would rather spend my life protected from criticism by an invisibility cloak woven with nursery shifts and dirty dishes than stand up and speak out on behalf of the Good News of the Kingdom (especially when that good news is often unpopular even within the church’s walls). But have I been called to these acts of quiet, invisible service by God, or by my frail flesh?

For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline.

Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony of our Lord or of me His prisoner, but join with me in suffering for the gospel according to the power of God, who saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our works, but according to His own purpose and grace, which was granted to us in Christ Jesus from all eternity…

2 Timothy 1:7-9 (emphasis added)

What might it look like for me to stop living in a spirit of timidity? How could power, love, and discipline change the way I follow the holy calling of God?

As far as specifics go, I don’t know yet. But I know what other seemingly-powerless and invisible women knew long before me: We serve a God who sees, and His is the only judgment that ultimately matters.

So Sarai treated [Hagar] harshly, and she fled from her presence. Now the angel of the LORD found her by a spring of water in the wilderness, by the spring on the way to Shur. He said, “Hagar, Sarai’s maid, where have you come from and where are you going?” And she said, “I am fleeing from the presence of my mistress Sarai.” Then the angel of the LORD said to her, “Return to your mistress, and submit yourself to her authority.” Moreover, the angel of the LORD said to her, “I will greatly multiply your descendants so that they will be too many to count.” … Then she called the name of the LORD who spoke to her, “You area God who sees”; for she said, “Have I even remained alive here after seeing Him?” Therefore the well was called Beer-lahai-roi [the well of the living one who sees me]; behold, it is between Kadesh and Bered.

Genesis 16:6b-10, 13-14

the unbelieving believers

What do fully-vaccinated mask-wearers and a lot of Christians have in common?

This question popped into my mind while I was reading one of my favorite books on walking with God called Sidetracked in the Wilderness, written by Michael Wells. In the first few chapters of the book, Wells makes the case that most Christians, despite their miraculous born-again status, are living in a state of defeat borne out of none other than the original sin: unbelief.

Stay with me.

As we’ve probably all heard by now, the CDC recently changed their guidelines regarding masks for the vaccinated population, causing a lot of businesses to relax their rules about wearing masks indoors. At Spuds, we are no longer requiring customers to wear masks, under the assumption/ideal that those who choose not to have had the Covid-19 vaccine.

Inevitably, this has created yet another us-them dichotomy in the general population. Over the course of this pandemic we’ve had the maskers and the anti-maskers, the vaccine-enthusiastic and the vaccine-hesitant, and now we have the “masked vaxxed” vs. the “unmasked vaxxed.” Today during my shift, we had two middle-aged women with two completely different approaches; one of them saw our “Masks Optional” sign on the door and immediately took her mask off, saying she was vaccinated; the other pointedly told me at the cash register, “I’m vaccinated, but I’m not taking this thing off.”

One of the women believed that because she had received the vaccine, her body had created the antibodies necessary to protect her from the virus, and her mask was therefore unnecessary. The other probably also believed in the efficacy of the vaccine, or she wouldn’t have bothered to be vaccinated—but she did not trust that her body would do its job if she came in contact with the virus. She kept her mask on.

These two women remind me of what Michael Wells writes:

Let me explain that an unbelieving believer is someone who is a Christian, is born again, and will arrive in heaven; the problem is that this person has never believed in the Lord Jesus with his whole being. That is, with his mind he receives and believes all that is told him about the grace, care, concern, and love of the Lord Jesus; he is a believer. Yet at the same time, he feels that he is in charge of every aspect of his Christian life, that he must change the lives of those around him, bring transformations into his own life, and work to make himself pleasing to God. That is, in his emotions he is unbelieving.

- Sidetracked in the Wilderness

I think we can all identify with the concept of the “unbelieving believer” at some point, or perhaps at many points, in our walks with God. We are all sometimes the fully-vaccinated mask-wearer—the wholly-justified do-gooder. We are all sometimes tempted to add our own works of righteousness to the complete work of Christ on the cross, even though “all our righteous deeds are like a filthy garment” (Isaiah 64:6). We all have days of fear, doubt, and uncertainty when we’ll slap a germ-laden cloth over our mouth and nose just in case the power within us isn’t as powerful as we once believed.

For some, the lifestyle of the unbelieving believer, like that of the masked-vaxxed, becomes a religion—a system of rules that slowly blinds him to the truth, binds him with fear, and ultimately leads both himself and others away from God. Have you ever wondered why, as a “Covid precaution,” your takeout at McDonald’s is now handed to you on a tray—when you know that someone had to touch the bag to get it on the tray in the first place, so what’s the point? Then you might also be apt to wonder why the Pharisees tithed “mint and dill and cummin, and have neglected the weightier provisions of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness” (Matthes 23:23a) or, more pointedly, why you can read your Bible and pray every day but still walk through life in the defeatedness of legalism and stubborn self-reliance.

I will venture a suggestion: It’s because you—we—do not trust that the power of God is truly within us, or that if it is, it’s truly enough.

If you’re vaccinated, the scientific research currently indicates that you are at extremely low risk of contracting Covid-19. If you somehow do get sick, you are almost certain to have an extremely mild or even asymptomatic case. There is no data to suggest that vaccinated people pose a risk to unvaccinated people. So your mask, if you choose to wear it (which is totally fine, I’m not here to tell anyone what to do), does nothing but betray your fear, inhibit your breathing, and signal your views to others.

So it is when we try to layer our self-powered good works onto the perfect sacrifice of Christ. He paid our debt in full; our mere pennies of righteous acts are an insult to that magnificent price, and if we insist on throwing them at His feet anyway, it’s because we are acting to appease our self-focused fears and to impress those who might be watching, not because they have any value with which to pay the debt we owe.

It is Christ alone who has done the hopeless work of reconciling our lost souls to God, and it will be the Spirit alone who does the equally hopeless work of sanctifying us into His likeness. Jesus says, “Unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:20b). How can any of us outdo those who followed the letter of all 600+ commands of the Law, right down to the very last jot? Only by receiving our righteousness from Someone else, and then living freely and wholeheartedly in the reality of it.

God is not afraid

I’ve learned a lot about life and people throughout the current pandemic, as I’m sure most of us have. But the one big thing that I keep noticing again and again is that fear invariably outworks itself in the form of control.

I’ve observed this in my own life before: the need to force all my unruly ducks into a row somehow because of my anxiety about some issue, or life in general. Over-exercising, under-eating, or rabidly purging belongings out of my house are some of the ways it shows—all of them poorly disguised attempts to control something.

I’m seeing it in just about all of us now.

In fear, some of us try to control the narrative we take in about the virus: we will only hear the parts that serve our desired and carefully curated point of view, and find ourselves “experts” or news articles to silence the rest.

In fear, some of us try to control the behavior of those around us: we will mock and shame people who are making different choices about social distancing than ourselves, or those who feel differently about the measures taken by our governing authorities.

In fear, some of us try to control our minute-by-minute experience of the extra time we have at home: we will keep to a rigorous schedule, strive after endless self-improvement, and attempt to force Covid-19 to serve our purposes.

All of these are understandable to me. It’s comforting to feel like we have the upper hand on our unseen threat. It’s comforting when other people’s choices align with our own. It’s comforting when the “experts” agree with us. In these we find a sense of security—albeit an artificial one.

And something else has become more understandable to me: The question, “Why would God let ____?”

I’m no stranger to this question; I’ve asked it plenty of times myself—but I have struggled to understand why it’s the question that so often stands between people and God. Those who reject God often seem to use some form of this question and its unsatisfactory answers as their justification for doing so. And it makes sense now.

Because if we were God, we would control everything we possibly could. Our basic state as human beings involves some level of fear. This, I believe, is the reason the Bible so often refers to us as sheep: not because we are fundamentally idiots, but because we are fundamentally terrified, knowing full well our own helplessness, and it leads us to make some fundamentally idiotic choices. So if we were God, we would have stomped down Satan before he even had a thought to rebel. We would have created compliant robots who would never dream of eating the forbidden fruit. We would have set ourselves up as the tyrannical dictators of an unthinking population—it is the only way we could avoid feeling threatened.

But God is not afraid.

God is not afraid, therefore God doesn’t have the same innate need to control that you and I do. He is not like us. In His basic state, He is utterly sufficient by Himself; the angelic legions could abandon Him and the entire world could reject Him and He is still enough. He is relational, yes, but He is also Three in One, so even His relational nature can be satisfied without us. He did not create anything because He needed a power trip—He created it all because He wanted to, and He has given His Creation the gift of choosing what they want, too.

Why would God let only some people be saved? Because only some people choose Him, and He is okay with that. God is not afraid.

Why would God let something bad happen to someone good? Because we don’t all live in robotic bubbles, unaffected by the hurtful choices of those around us or before us, and He is okay with that. God is not afraid.

Why would God let evil exist in the first place? Because He invites us to know Him for who He is—and an important part of His character is His omnipotence. His power isn’t threatened by any opposing force, even one that costs Him dearly. God is not afraid.

And would we want Him any other way? When we acknowledge our own powerlessness, it becomes all the more soothing to know that we have a God who is both utterly powerful and utterly fearless. He doesn’t need to squelch every little threat with overbearing pseudo-control because He has real power, and He is entirely unthreatened.

All of our little controlling behaviors in light of the current world are normal and understandable. But they’re also unnecessary and can become destructive. If our God is unafraid, what have we to fear? What threat does a different viewpoint or a flexible schedule or even a novel virus hold? Our treasure is not in the opinions of others or in the achievements of this world or in life itself—it’s in Him. And He’s not afraid.

---

Want to learn more about who God is?

The best place to go is to the Word. The Bible is the story of who God is, and who God is changes everything for you and me.

To that end, I have a couple resources that may help you get started in your journey through the Bible:

• The Bible180 Challenge is an opportunity to read through the Bible in 180 days, according to a thorough chronological schedule. You get a day of rest each week as well as an email offering accountability, support, and the very best study resources I’ve found to help you understand what you read. You can also use the Bible180 Challenge Journal to help you focus, stay on track, and build good study habits!

• Bedrock: A Foundation for Independent Biblical Study is a comprehensive textbook/workbook that will teach you how to dig DEEP into each of the seven types of Biblical literature. It’s a great next step for anyone who feels ready to surpass the typical milk of sermons and Bible studies, and desires to learn how to serve themselves on the meat. Find it on Amazon.